


Freaks

by TheBlackMagister



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Bottom Dean, Brother/Brother Incest, Dean Feels, Dean Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dean Needs A Hug, Gentle Sex, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incest, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Underage Sex, Sibling Incest, Top Sam, john winchester is a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackMagister/pseuds/TheBlackMagister
Summary: Sam notices Dean is tired.





	

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: irl incest is absolutely not cool and this is a fictional work about fictional characters and i dont condone real-life incest of any kind. take this as it is: fiction. if this fic makes u wanna do the nasty w/a family member: dont

Dean is four years, three months, eight days older than Sam, and right now he definitely seems it.

There’s a certain stiffness to the way he moves, not like he’s slept wrong or stretched too much but he just seems. Tired. Older. And Sam hadn’t noticed it before, not until he’d started pressing Dean’s buttons and Dean had blown up on him.

But, shit. Dean looks fucking exhausted. There’s dark circles under his eyes, which Dean had obviously tried to patch up with concealer, maybe, but it’s rubbing off. His hands are just a little too tight on the wheel, knuckles barely too white, and he’s stiff, taut, like he’s about to jump out of the window. His jaw is set and his eyes stare at the road without looking at anything else and his shoulders are hunched forward defensively. He hasn’t even turned on the radio.

Sam’s been looking out the window for the past half hour because he can’t stand to look at Dean. Dean had pretty much raised him – from the ground up. He’d given _everything_ for Sam. And Sam had just sort of. Run off.

But now Sam drags his gaze to the man next to him. _Brother_. He hadn’t thought about it, he was the younger brother, but Dean had grown up so fast. By the time he was ten and Sam was six he was going grocery shopping by himself, wherever they happened to be. He was managing to scrape money from somewhere when he was sixteen and Sam was fourteen, because Sam was embarrassed about something or other and by God Dean was gonna fix it.

Gently Sam rests a hand on Dean’s leg. Dean jumps a little, glancing briefly at Sam before staring back over the road.

“Dean,” Sam says, “We should stop for the night.”

“What? Nah,” Dean answers absently, “I got it.”

“Dean,” Sam repeats, more firmly. “I’m tired.”

Dean glances at him again, and seems to finally get the message. The older exhales slowly, relaxing his grip, and says, “The next exit.”

Satisfied, Sam nods and leans back, although he doesn’t let his hand leave Dean’s leg. He can feel the tenseness begin to drain out of his brother. Dean is _weary_ , Sam thinks is a good word. And he’s got a good idea on how to fix that.

When they pull into the lot of the hotel Sam gives Dean a certain sort of look. Dean just raises his eyebrows, daring him to object, but instead Sam just shrugs a little and gets out of the car. If Dean wants to play that game – so be it.

Almost as soon as Sam has shut the door to their room Dean’s on him, kissing any open spot of skin, and Sam catches his wrists and turns the tides to push Dean against the door. And Dean sort of melts at the contact, pressing against Sam’s body, face buried in the younger male’s shoulder, and Sam holds him, kisses all up along his neck and rubs his nails lightly against his back under his shirt.

“Sammy,” Dean mumbles, clutching vaguely at Sam’s denim jacket. “Sam.”

“Shh,” Sam soothes, “I’ve got you.”

It’s one of Dean’s rare moments of vulnerability. He squirms, and whines, and pushes as close as possible to Sam’s warmth. Sam manages to get Dean to the bed, half-dragging, and leans on top and takes the liberty to connect their lips. Dean sighs, and goes lax, reaching up and tangling his fingers through Sam’s messy hair.

For a few minutes they stay like that, idly making out, nothing sexual to it. Then Dean thrusts up a little, making some sound in the back of his throat, and Sam smirks a little, just because he can’t fucking help himself.

“Sam,” Dean mutters, hands reaching for the hem of Sam’s shirt. “C’mon, Sam..”

Sam easily shrugs off the denim and, for good measure, the cotton underneath. Dean’s hands slide down his body in an almost reverent way, the older man sighing contentedly. Dean’s always been like that, a ‘hand talker’ of sorts, and right now his fingers are working haphazardly at the button on Sam’s jeans. Sam lets him. Sex has always been calming for Dean, even before Sam.

“You gonna.. take ‘em off or what?” Dean says, pretending to grump, and Sam just chuckles and smirks and says “you gotta do your part first, Dean.” So Dean wiggles out of his shirt, tosses it across the room and then gazes expectantly up at Sam. Sam’s eyes roll so hard he might as well have fucking broken the fourth wall, and he slides off of Dean to get his jeans off. Dean takes the opportunity to do the same, and in just the few moments it takes for pants to come off there’s a noticeable change in Dean. His breathing is softer, but coming in stuttering pants hard enough to make his shoulders shake a little. He’s squirmy, moreso than usual, pushing his hips off the bed like he’d never been fucked before.

Sam figures, fuck it, and slides easily out of the boxer-briefs clinging to his hips. Dean whines, a guttural sort of sound, already bare and wriggling and mumbling Sam’s name. It’s moments like these, fuck, Sam is so grateful, because if Dean was Dean “I’m the best” Winchester every moment of every day Sam would probably kill him. Here he’s just, he’s just Dean, just Sam’s brother, Dean who’s faced demons and all sorts of fucked up shit but is afraid of planes, Dean who sleeps in and has late breakfasts and smiles sleepily when he sees Sam for the first time every day, Dean who never got to enjoy life, Dean who became Sam’s dad at four. And god damnit, if Sam can give Dean just a moment’s relaxation, a moment’s peace where Dean can be taken care of, Sam’s gonna fucking take it, and Sam kisses him, cupping his cheeks and killing him with the kiss until he pulls back, panting.

“Sammy,” Dean starts, but Sam just shakes his head.

“I love you.”

Dean pauses, gazing at him in disbelief, and then laughs softly and says, “I know.”

Which is about as close to “I love you too” that Dean gets.

Before he gets back onto the bed – the delay makes Dean groan and mutter “hurry up, damnit” – Sam grabs the half-empty bottle of lube from the bag. Always good to be prepared. He slicks two fingers as he crawls back on top of Dean, kneeling between his older brother’s thighs and lightly ghosting his hands over Dean’s front.

Sam kisses him again, mostly to muffle the gasping, hissing groan that escapes Dean when both fingers slide in. They don’t bother too much with any of the build-up stuff anymore, mostly at Dean’s insistence/impatience. Dean breaks their connection, tilting his head back, whining and rocking himself against Sam’s fingers.

“Sam,” Dean says on an exhale, “Sam, c’mon, you know I don’t-“

“Shut up,” Sam murmurs, not unkindly. “Let me do it my way.”

Dean gives the poutiest look ever but does, in fact, shut up. And totally not _just because_ Sam’s fingers brush against his prostate and, upon the jerk of his hips, press down, rubbing and scratching a little and combined with Sam’s kisses on his neck Dean fucking melts. After a moment a third finger eases in, and Dean’s panting and gasping and whining, mostly Sam’s name and swears and other incoherent probably-words. It’s nice, to get Dean undone like this.

“Dean, you ready?” Sam murmurs against his ear, and Dean manages a shaky sort of chuckle.

“I was born ready, Sammy.”

This is countered by the grimace that Dean can’t repress when Sam’s fingers slip out, followed by the yelp when they’re replaced with his dick. Sam resists the urge to smirk, bottoming out and holding still while Dean swears and grumbles under him.

Dean’s fucking tight, though, he always is. Sam grunts a little, shifting a little. Dean’s fucking gorgeous, eyes closed, panting and flushed and writhing and open.

“Somehow, I feel like if more people knew this you..” Sam begins; Dean cuts him off.

“You’d be a jealous wreck and I wouldn’t walk for a week. Now – _you_ shut up, and fuck me.”

Sam laughs softly, pulling back and rolling his hips back forward. Dean hisses a little, head falling back against the mattress, and Sam takes the open chance to attach his mouth to Dean’s throat. He can feel the vibrations of the groan he drags out of Dean and as a reward increases the pace, easily sliding in and out of his brother.

“Sam,” Dean gasps, tugging lightly at Sam’s hair. “Oh, jeez, Sam..”

“Something wrong?” Sam teases. “Should I stop?”

“ _Fuck_ no, Sam, don’t. Please.”

The please is a surprise – it’s not often Sam can make him say it. Dean must’ve really been holding some shit in. Sam kisses along the exposed skin of Dean’s throat, murmuring soft nothings against the older’s ear, and Dean keens, pulling himself into Sam’s thrusts.

“Sam,” Dean whines throatily. “Sam, Sam, Sam..”

“Shh, Dean,” Sam soothes, reaching down to jerk Dean off. “Shh.. you’re okay, I’ve got you..”

Dean kisses him needily, desperately, rocking and whining and Sam can feel him shaking. He’s not close, not yet, Dean’s never close this soon. Sam can feel the breakdown coming, and god, he just wants to protect Dean. He can feel Dean clinging to his upper arms, hard enough to bruise, not that he cares all that much.

“Love you, Dean,” He mumbles into the kiss, soft and messy, and Dean whines low.

“Love you. Sam.”

“I know,” Sam whispers. “You’re okay.”

“God – uff, Sam-“ Dean’s head tilts away, chest heaving in the struggle to inhale, and Sam knows he’s hit Dean’s prostate. Dean’s hands move from Sam’s arms, to his back, then to the sheets, grasping hard. By now Sam’s moving fast; although not too hard, trying not to trigger any bad memories.

“You’re doing so good.” Sam kisses along his jaw, nipping soft, trying not to leave hickeys cause if somebody notices they’re in deep shit. “So good, Dean. I’m so proud.”

“Mnh,” Dean says real intelligently. His back arches up a little, and Sam croons.

“So good. Taking me so well, Dean.”

“Sam.” Dean’s begging again, and he always sounds so pitiful that Sam can’t help but to give in to whatever it is he wants. “I can’t – Sam – I’m-“

“It’s okay,” Sam breathes. “It’s okay, Dean. You’re okay.”

Dean whines, pushing his hips up against Sam’s hand, rutting helplessly. Sam leans in, resting his forehead on Dean’s, scanning his older brother’s forest-green eyes. Dean’s gone, absolutely lost. Sam kisses him, soft, slow, stroking Dean lightly with one callused hand, and Dean moans – it’s so rare for Dean to actually moan, but it’s fucking beautiful, low and desperate and clearly a sound he’s unused to making.

Then Sam feels the warmth splatter up against his stomach and Dean whimpers, hips jerking, pulling back from the kiss. As soon as Dean’s finished Sam pulls out, and in another couple of strokes he reaches the end, groaning deep as he cums. And then, for a moment, they sit there; Sam kneeling between Dean’s thighs, his stomach wet, Dean splayed out and panting and whining like a shot dog.

“We should shower,” Sam whispers. Dean doesn’t move, though, and after a pause Sam rolls over on the bed, laying on his back next to Dean, basking in the bliss of a much-needed orgasm. Then Dean sits up, beginning to calm down, minus the trembling. Ah. Right.

“Dean,” Sam murmurs softly, sitting up and nuzzling into Dean’s neck. “It’s okay, Dean.”

“I don’t want to find him,” Dean blurts out, and Sam sighs softly.

“I know.”

“Don’t wanna – I don’t wanna – he might, what if things are like before, before he left, Sam,”

“Dean.” Sam cups his jaw, kisses all along his neck and jaw and lips. “I know.”

After a moment Dean relaxes, although still shaking, and nuzzles into Sam’s hair. Sam eases him into laying back, resting on the pillow, and then presses against him, head on his chest. The warmth is comforting to Dean, who is slowly – slowly – calming down.

“Love you, Sammy,” Dean mumbles hoarsely. “Don’t go.”

“I know. I love you.” Sam glances up, catching Dean in a kiss again. God – it’s fucking sick. Freakish. But then again, Dean’s always saying how freakish they are. But he also always mentions something else, something Sam can definitely get behind.

This sort of life doesn’t come without its perks.


End file.
